


As You Wish

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As you wish" is all Merlin ever says to him. He is amazed to discover that what Merlin means is: "I love you."<br/>(adapted from The Princess Bride.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [tumblr post](http://neuroticnick.tumblr.com/post/46119927187) that may or may not have made me cry and the distracting people in the PL chat.

Arthur doesn't know how he ended up with such an incompetent manservant. Well, he does know—the cheeky idiot had somehow managed to save his life—but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

The first few months were hopeless. After all that bravado in the town about "not doing that if I were you," when Merlin is in Arthur's employ he's actually rather shy. He gets the hang of dressing and undressing, serving food, polishing and adorning Arthur's armour, but there are little things—the food not being steaming hot, taking too long with his trousers by fumbling with the laces, or such other small details—that drive Arthur mad.

It doesn't help that Merlin refuses to speak most of the time. Oh, he will prattle on and on to Gwen or one of the knights he's friendly with, and has no qualms talking to Gaius. But with Arthur he shuts up and goes about serving the prince in a strict, almost solemn manner. 

Arthur was amused by it at first. Merlin had been all talk before, calling him a prat and a royal ass, but as soon as he was installed as his manservant he seemed to have learned his place. Arthur took every opportunity to bully Merlin, but Merlin would only bite his lip, shake his head with his eyes cast down, and mutter, "As you wish."

That turned out to be the only thing Merlin ever  _would_ say unless prompted by swordpoint or the stocks.

"Polish that armour, Merlin," when Arthur had come in from training.

"As you wish."

Or, "Get out, Merlin!" when he'd woken up with a particularly nasty hangover.

"As you wish."

Each time it was accompanied by a little tilt of his mouth, a curl at the end of his lips, as if he was in on a secret Arthur wasn't. It puzzled Arthur maddeningly at first, but after the first year, he grew used to Merlin's quietness around him and paid it no special attention.

That is, until Arthur sees Merlin talking to Gwen on his way back from the training field. Merlin has just returned from picking some herbs and Gwen is on some errand or other for Morgana, but they've stopped in the shade of the castle to chat. Arthur thinks nothing of it, merely glances Merlin's way as he passes—just in time to see Gwen tuck a small purple flower in the fold of Merlin's neckerchief, and he feels his pulse quicken with a sudden inexplicable anger.

"Purple suits you, Merlin," he hears Gwen say as he approaches the pair of them angrily.

"Thank you, Gwen," Merlin replies, blushing.

And it's the blush that makes Arthur bellow before he's even halfway there, "Merlin!"

Abruptly, Merlin stiffens and turns with wide, innocent eyes to face Arthur. "Sire?"

"I've just been past the stables. They certainly don't  _smell_ as though they've been mucked out. Be a decent servant for once, and quit neglecting your duties."

Merlin bows low, the purple flower dropping from his neckerchief, forgotten. "As you wish." And he leaves to follow Arthur's orders briskly.

Gwen gives the fallen flower only a brief glance before she sighs and returns to tend to Morgana. When she's gone, Arthur picks it up, thinking the colour actually would look rather nice against Merlin's pale complexion.

After that, Arthur finds he requires Merlin's presence more often. 

"Stay a bit longer, Merlin," Arthur says before Merlin can snuff out the last candle at night.

"As you wish." He sits by the fire until Arthur is snoring softly and leaves only once he has made sure Arthur is comfortable.

"I'll need you by my side the entire feast, Merlin," Arthur declares any time visiting nobles cause reason for celebration.

"As you wish."

"I think I've pulled a muscle with that last swing. Rub some oil on it, would you, Merlin?"

"As you wish."

And it is when a princess from a neighbouring kingdom comes and annoys Arthur to no end that Arthur leans to Merlin at his elbow and whispers, "Sneak me out of here, Merlin...please?"

Merlin lowers himself to look Arthur in the eye, searching for any hint of teasing or joking, and after a long moment, does not fail to reply, "As you wish."

Arthur has never snuck out of the castle before. He has never had reason to. He is the Crown Prince and can come and go as he pleases. But Merlin has apparently had much experience navigating the guarded corridors. After slipping out of the dining hall and past the visiting royal servants and nobles—who are sure to question why the prince isn't at the feast entertaining their Majesty—it is remarkably easy to stick to the shadows and escape out the castle walls.

Arthur doesn't ask where Merlin is taking him. He feels a strange sort of trust and he knows Merlin will never let anything bad happen to him. He laughs, carefree and happy, when Merlin breaks into a run with a triumphant look over his shoulder.

They don't go far. Merlin leads him to a small meadow not far out of sight from the battlements. The grass is tall here, up to their waists, and when they fall, breathless to the ground, their view of the stars is bordered by the tall stalks of grass around them. It's only the sound of their panting, the rustle of the dry grass beneath their heaving bodies, and the occasional whisper of leaves as the wind blows through the trees.

When they have laid there, peaceful and feeling infinitely tiny in comparison to the world, for nearly half an hour, Arthur turns his head to say thank you to Merlin, only to find Merlin is staring back at him as if the stars, the moon, the beauty that surrounds them, is all Arthur's doing. And it takes his breath away.

He doesn't know how long they stare. Merlin has always been brazen; he hadn't lost that characteristic when he'd been put in Arthur's service, he'd only stopped mouthing off. Therefore it is no surprise that he doesn't look away or offer up any excuse as to why he was staring. He only looks his fill of Arthur, gazing into bright blue eyes that tease him, joke with him, demand perfection of him in his tasks. And Arthur stares unashamedly back into misty blue eyes that constantly watch and serve and  _trust_.

"Kiss me, Merlin," Arthur says quietly. 

Merlin props himself up on his elbow, his brow a bit furrowed as he wonders if he's heard correctly,  _hoping_ he's heard correctly. But after another second of searching Arthur's features, he decides he's found what he's looking for, because he smiles just slightly and says, "As you wish."

Merlin's kiss is not shy. It is not soft or subservient. It is demanding and desperate and deep and Arthur is glad he is lying down because he feels he might have stumbled if he'd been standing. Merlin explores him, slips his tongue in beside Arthur's as if it's meant to be there, and stakes a claim that Arthur is only too willing to give. 

Merlin's hands are not shy. They tug at Arthur's tunic, snaking their way beneath the fabric and dancing across the planes of Arthur's chest as his lips continue to conquer. Hands that have dressed and undressed him a thousand times, hands that serve Arthur wine, soothe his muscles, hands that linger a little too long at his throat when clasping his cloak around his neck...

It all seems to make a ridiculous amount of sense then. Each passing glance, a feast for hungry eyes. Each little crooked smile, a plea. Each "As you wish," an "I love you" in disguise.

When Merlin's erection brushes against Arthur's hip and Merlin moans at the sensation, breath stuttering as they kiss, Arthur grabs hold of the back of Merlin's neck and says, "Fuck me, Merlin."

Merlin inhales sharply, his hands clutching at Arthur's skin as his mind refuses to believe what Arthur has asked of him. Then his mind does believe, just as his swollen cock urges him on, and he kisses a trail down Arthur's neck before whispering hot and low and wet in the prince's ear, "As you wish."

Merlin strips them slowly, placing loving kisses to Arthur's skin as he reveals it. He matches Arthur garment for garment, removing his tunic after he removes Arthur's, his breeches after the prince's. They are equal like this, simply bodies full of lust and hearts full of love.

Arthur supposes he should be surprised and even suspicious that Merlin carries a vial of oil around with him, but he is just enough out of his lust-fogged state to notice it is the same vial Merlin uses for his strained muscles. Of course Merlin would have it with him at all times. Arthur complains about his old wounds so much, and Merlin—he really isn't as dreadful a servant as Arthur says—is always prepared and ready to attend to them should the pain get to be too much. Because Merlin would do anything for his prince; Arthur need only ask.

His manservant—his beautiful, brave, useful manservant—opens the vial and dips two fingers in as he wraps his free hand around Arthur's cock and brings the leaking tip to his mouth. Arthur's breath hitches at the hot stripe of wet he feels along the underside of his prick, sudden and with no warning. Merlin's lips, sinfully pink and plump, part just enough to suck the head of Arthur's dick, tongue twirling around it teasingly before he plunges down to the root and back up so quick Arthur is left gasping for breath. He does it again, giving Arthur a preview of what is to come with his tongue, and then shoving the full length in his mouth just long enough to leave Arthur wanting. It isn't until he presses a first slick finger to Arthur's entrance that he begins to suck properly, bobbing his head up and down in a steady rhythm. 

His fingers in Arthur's arse match it, and Arthur feels his orgasm just out of reach. He wants and yet doesn't want it, not if Merlin isn't going to share bliss with him. "Merlin," Arthur exhales shakily as a warning, and because Merlin knows Arthur better than he knows himself, he understands and hurries to apply more oil to his own flushed erection.

Merlin hovers for a moment, and Arthur briefly sees himself through Merlin's perspective. The moonlight make Merlin's eyes glisten and sparkle and in the dilated pupils he can see himself reflected: blond hair disorderly, jaw slack and lips chapped from mouth-breathing, legs butterflied open in the ultimate display of trust. He sees Merlin's love, feels it penetrate him before even Merlin's cock does, and it fills him till he is bursting with affection.

Arthur licks his chapped lips and the moment passes. Merlin looks to down to where their bodies are about to join, takes himself in one hand and guides his cock in. It's slow and sweet and it hurts, burns just around the edges because this is nothing like fingers, but it's Merlin and Arthur wants more, needs more.

Arthur wiggles his hips so he slides just enough more of Merlin into him. After an initial gasp, an expression passes over Merlin's face, an expression that Arthur immediately pins as amusement. He can almost hear Merlin's sarcastic thoughts:  _Impatient, my lord?_  He yearns to hear the words spoken, wishes for the cheeky, bold Merlin that had challenged him that first day, but just as quickly Merlin's face changes to arousal and he thrusts the rest of the way in with a grunt.

Merlin's hips are not shy. They snap back and forth as Merlin's pulls out slowly just to ram himself back in. They are bony and occasionally Merlin uses enough force for the jutting bones to hurt. They find a rhythm, roll in a way Arthur never wants to share with anyone, and give Merlin the perfect angle to drive Arthur to climax.

Arthur isn't useless after he comes, knackered as he is. He wants to reciprocate at least half of the love Merlin has shown him in the past few minutes. He lifts himself up on his elbows and jerks his chin up, signalling for Merlin to shift back just a little.

Merlin moves so he's kneeling, his heels digging into the flesh of his arse, and Arthur moves with him, never once letting Merlin slip out. Merlin keeps a hold around Arthur's waist and Arthur curves his spine in a slight arch, digs his elbows into the earth to hold up his body as he lifts and lowers his hips in rapid succession, fucking himself on Merlin's cock. Merlin runs a hand up Arthur's chest and back down again, the gentle touch leaving trails of fiery desire in its wake, and Arthur lets his head fall back as he continues to milk Merlin with his body.

Merlin does it again, touches Arthur like he can't believe he's real, that he's this lucky, when he lets out a filthy moan and comes hard, dick throbbing out its release inside of Arthur's tight arse. At the sound of Merlin's pleasure, Arthur squeezes around the cock in him, uses his hips to raise and lower himself a couple more times, pulling out the orgasm of his manservant until Merlin repositions them so that he's hovering above Arthur and kissing him breathless again. 

When Merlin pulls out gingerly and the resulting emptiness makes Arthur want to curl up and hold Merlin tight to him, Arthur says, "I love you, Merlin."

Merlin smiles that knowing smile of his, only now Arthur is in on the secret, and Merlin moves the blond fringe out of Arthur's eyes and says, "I love you, Arthur."

Arthur feels it again, Merlin's love that has always been there and always will be, and he lays his head on Merlin's chest, closing his eyes to listen to the steady heartbeat that matches his own. "Hold me, Merlin."

"As you wish."


End file.
